


The Jesus of Suburbia is a Lie

by psychamonia



Category: American Idiot - All Media Types, American Idiot - Green Day (Album), American Idiot - Green Day/Armstrong
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, POV Second Person, alter ego, mild horror ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:26:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25341664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychamonia/pseuds/psychamonia
Summary: St. Jimmy pays Johnny a visit.---TW: lots of blood, questionable consent with kissing (no smut), violence, death (kind of)
Relationships: St. Jimmy/Johnny
Kudos: 5





	The Jesus of Suburbia is a Lie

**Author's Note:**

> repeated TW in case you missed it: lots of blood, questionable consent with kissing (no smut), violence, death (kind of)

It’s just like any other night. Another rundown bar, another city party, another few hours spacing out on the couch while strangers file around you, laughing and dancing and living, so much more than you ever have. The room is bright with smoke and music, and it filters through your mind like a film, flashes of color and sound without any meaning behind them. You’re not sure you know anyone here, but you might. In any case, you don’t know any of them well enough to care, now that Will and Tunny and Whatsername are gone. Jimmy’s never been a sure thing either way. You’ve never seen him anywhere he doesn’t want to be seen, and you don’t have any way of knowing when the next time might be. 

A burst of cheers explodes from behind you, probably following some unnatural feat of drinking. You close your eyes against the colors, snuggling further into the debatable comfort of the couch. There’s no way it’s clean; in fact, you’d be rather surprised if it had ever been close, judging by the smell and the way your hand comes away somewhat sticky when you lift it off the armrest. You lay down anyway, almost kicking someone leaning against the side and earning dirty looks from the couple at the other end. The world is a hazy, multicolored dream, and you let it wash over you without caring particularly for the details. You’re almost drowsy, the space of your mind buzzing with sleep, when all of a sudden you feel him.

 _I’m here,_ he whispers, and his presence slides smoothly across your mind. Surprised, you choke on air, and it feels like fingers in your throat; _his_ fingers, long and pale and trembling with 2 a.m. exhaustion. The sounds of the party fade away, and your eyes feel stuck closed, but the warm trail of his fingers lights up the darkness with a flush, like red paint across the back of your eyelids. Your mouth tastes like smoke and metal, and it’s good, good in a way you’ve been missing for so long, in a way that reminds you of Will and Tunny, of all three of you bouncing around your basement, sick of where you are and eager for where you’ll be. But you ended up here, instead, and the thought sends you spiraling away again, swirling on an ocean of memories. 

You remember a day, two summers before you left the suburbs. Just the four of you, Will and Tunny and Johnny and Heather, scruffy and young, still testing out the world. Not yet trapped and vicious and desperate to leave. Just walking through the streets near school, soaking in the reality of life: the cracked sidewalk beneath your feet, the violent noise of traffic going past, the way you have to shout to be heard over the cars. Will and Heather, not even together yet, stealing glances at each other like it’s a secret. Tunny laughing at one of your jokes, almost falling off the edge of the sidewalk, nose crinkled up with humor as he calls you Johnny. You miss that, the time when the nickname wasn’t born yet. 

But now- you sense something. Lost in the dream, you turn, and the memory changes. Behind you: him. Those dark-lined eyes, that wicked slash of a smile, his terrible, beautiful hands. But he’s not real, he can’t be. You didn’t meet him until later, strung-out and on fire in the city, lit up inside with youth and drugs and all the stars in the sky. 

“Hey, Jesus.” He says, eyes flashing. His fingers trail along the chain of his belt, teasing you. 

“You’re not real.” You say, licking your lips nervously. 

“Am I not?” He steps closer, traces a hand along your collar, dragging those long fingers up your neck to fasten themselves in your hair. Tightening his fist, he pulls your head close to him, putting his mouth right up by your ear. You gasp at the sharp sting of pain, feeling his laughter puffing out over your skin.

“You have no _idea_ what’s real anymore, Johnny.” 

It’s the first time he’s ever addressed you by your given name, and it shocks you. His grip on your hair tightens further, painful, and you struggle to pull back, shoving him away from you. You manage it, but it feels too easy, like you’re only able to do so because he lets you. 

“Am I wrong?” He says, stretching his arms out. “Look at you. Look at your friends. Look at your world.” 

You do, glancing behind you, where you know the other three must be waiting. But they’re gone, the sidewalk completely empty. Even the cars have left, the intersection stoplight turning green-yellow-red with no one except you two to see it. 

You look back at him, and this time he’s worse. A dark cloud swirls out behind him, moving in the air like ripples in a pond, small tendrils of smoke reaching out from his body and twisting in the breeze. 

“You know what I think, Johnny?” 

Desperately, frantically, you shake your head, almost tripping over your own feet as you back up. 

“I think you don’t know what to believe anymore.” 

He advances, arms still outstretched. As you watch, his image flickers like T.V. static, then steadies, growing more vibrant and opaque with every step he moves towards you. 

“I think…” He laughs, and there’s blood on his hands, on his forehead, soaking one side of his shirt. Drawing in an audible breath, he laughs again, then howls, the sound echoing across the empty streets, rebounding off the sides of houses and corner stores and trees. Like a crown torn across his forehead, the blood spills down his face, dripping steadily into his eyes. When he blinks, his eyes are red. “I think I can do whatever I want.” 

Trembling, you keep backing away, unwilling to take your eyes off him for a second. The cloud is bigger now, swirling faster, filling almost your entire field of vision. You don’t know how you got here, and you don’t know how to leave, and you’re scared, fucking _terrified,_ of this man in front of you. This boy that you once knew, now twisted into something unrecognizable. 

Suddenly, your foot catches an uneven break in the sidewalk and you go tumbling down, scraping your elbow against the concrete. He’s still coming, and you try to scramble backwards, but there’s no escape. He kneels beside you, and you give in. 

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head against the ground, craning your neck away from him. A hand, warm and sticky with blood, cups your cheek, turning your face back towards him. You can smell him, a mix of smoke and alcohol and something sweeter, like the kitchen of your old house, back when your mom still cared to bake. 

“Johnny,” he breathes, and you feel it against your jaw. “You know I can’t do this without you.” 

You try to turn away again, but his hand is firm and his grip unyielding. “I don’t want to-”

“But you do,” he says, this time against your cheek. Closer, but not quite there. “I know you do.” 

You scrunch your nose, shrinking into the concrete in an attempt to get as far away from him as possible, pressing your torn palms to the ground. You’re afraid to touch him on purpose, afraid to like it. 

“I know you better than anyone does.” His exhale is directly above your lips. “I _own_ you. And the best part is…” 

The fingers of his other hand dance along your hip, pulling you ever closer. 

“You make me _real._ ”

His mouth presses against yours in a savage kiss, biting your bottom lip almost hard enough to bleed. You cry out, the sound disappearing between you, and open your eyes just in time to see the black cloud descend fully over you. All that’s left is him. 

He pulls back slightly, opening his eyes to look directly at you. 

“Please,” you gasp, and you barely catch a glimpse of his crooked smile before he presses his face into your neck, mouthing at the place where your pulse beats hot in your veins. His tongue traces up a vein, and you keen. 

“The Jesus of Suburbia…” He taunts, still hinting at malice, even as his hand smoothes over your hair. He’s everything all at once, a perfect enigma, gentle and dominating and terrifying. Blood and petals and everything in between. “What a lie.” 

You’re about to ask what he means, but before you can, a pain unlike any you’ve ever felt tears through your body, centered on your neck. Tears spring to your eyes, but you can still see him through the blur, pulling back from your neck, blood coating his mouth and chin. You’re choking on your own blood, and he’s tasting it, licking it from his lips like it’s a treat. 

“Thank you, Johnny,” he says, and you can just hear it through the roaring in your ears. You can’t tell the difference between him and the darkness anymore, black spots covering your vision, blocking out his face. 

He dips down to kiss you, and you can feel your own blood against your lips. Your eyes roll back into your head, and you fade away. 

(In a party in the center of the city, a man wakes from an apparently deep sleep. Rolling off the poor excuse for a couch, he stands, glancing down at his own body as if he expects to see someone else. What he finds seems to amuse him. A smirk settles onto his face, and he heads off to find himself some more alcohol.)

**Author's Note:**

> fun game idea: drink every time i add a comma instead of a period
> 
> i was listening to the album and wondered if other bands had fandom works like kpop does- and lo and behold they do! and now i'm contributing! ik that this tag isn't active by any stretch of the imagination, but this fic was super fun to write so i'm posting it anyway
> 
> anyway- hope you enjoyed!


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